Circle of Reign (72 page)

A flurry of arrows rained down upon them. Most embedded themselves harmlessly in the trees but some found a target. A second flurry came, adding to the first volley’s effect. Merrick, the giant blacksmith, grunted and Hedron turned to the man. Two arrows protruded from his back near his left shoulder. He reached up and snapped the wooden shafts with no more effort than had they been decayed twigs.

“No harm, my Lord,” Merrick said. “I’m right-handed.”

With his hammer raised, he bellowed forth into the Borathein horde with a thunderous cry. His wood-dweller speed carried him
with momentum through several lines of men, swinging and slamming his iron enforcer, authoritatively persuading those in his path that this life was no longer for them. With each swing, at least two Borathein were sent flying back, broken and dead.

“Cover him!” Hedron commanded as he looked above to the archers in the trees. Arrows found their marks all around Merrick, thinning out the masses.

“No! Let them come!” he shouted.

He smashed over and over, spinning and whirling like a tornado of iron. He hit one man on the shoulder, destroying the joint, and followed up with an uppercut to the man’s jaw that nearly took off his head. A bright orange-bearded man threw a small axe that found Merrick’s thigh but the giant ripped it free and returned the favor, catching the man in his face. Another attack, this one from a spear, punctured his abdomen. Slices from half a dozen swords covered his arms, but his lethal hammer continued to crash down on all those around him as he shaped them for death against the earthen anvil at his feet. But no matter his strength and speed, Merrick was eventually overrun by enemy soldiers and cut down as a raft swallowed by ocean swells in a typhoon.

Hedron started to feel physically sick. He and the rest of those with him retreated again and the heat at their backs increased. They must not let the Borathein into the city, but he did not know how to prevent it. All around him men and woman died on both sides, but his forces and allies could not win a battle of attrition. The Borathein acted like a battering ram, pushing forward no matter their losses, until they breached the city, where they would have more room to maneuver and hand out their destruction. Hedron guessed they had only met half of the Borathein’s ground forces thus far. He prayed Aiden’s front above the trees was having more success.

Lord Marshal Wenthil ordered a brisk retreat of about fifty paces, putting some distance between the main lines of the forces. The wood-dwellers in the trees leaped from one tree to the next until they were aligned with the new front. The invaders had continued to advance, but cautiously.

The forest started to change around Lord Kerr. The ground became firmer; the vibrations he felt through it more sharp and thin. Then it receded as a wave pulling back, and Hedron’s mind spun in the undertow. He glanced around and saw looks of terror on every Arlethian. Hoyt’s men did not seem to notice the feeling, nor would they.

Glimon found him. The old command sergeant was splattered with blood but otherwise appeared well.

“Lord Kerr, did you feel that?”

“Yes, what was it?” Hedron bellowed.

He looked to his left and saw Huksinai and Thurik dragging Alabeth hurriedly away from the front. The female cub still did not move.

“Do you know what it was?” he asked Glimon again.

Glimon looked uncertain, but Hedron could guess he was thinking of the corruption that Ulin and Seilia had spoken of. An arrow raced between them.

“But nothing happened!” Hedron exclaimed. They felt the release of more arrows and hunkered behind a tree.

“Something did!”

“Whatever it was, it left. We have to focus on—”

It came back and surged through the forest. Underneath Hedron, the soil turned to gravel and stone, the trees turned dark gray and cold. The thousands of Arlethians, to their credit, did not break and run in terror. But, the young Lord knew how they were feeling because he felt the same. Revulsion spread through him, coupled with shock and disbelief.

What is this?
he demanded of himself but had no answer. This was the corruption mother Seilia had spoken of. It had to be. Hoyt’s men could not help but see this physical change around them.

“It is the Dark!” one man screamed. “The Dark Mother’s Influence!”

The fighting ceased, and again a rift of space was created between the two lines with everyone looking down and around themselves, inspecting their environment. Even the Borathein
stopped fighting and an eerie calm settled over the masses. Some of the fires smoldered, but much of the city was too far gone to be extinguished.

Lord Kerr stood. All his people looked at him. He saw their defeated expressions and knew the Borathein did as well. They had been outnumbered from the beginning with little hope against such overwhelming odds. But they had their trees. They had their forests and their venerable cities, Calyn foremost among them. Most importantly, they had one another. A race as ancient as the world itself, second only to the Ancients, if the legends were true.

I believed
—
I hoped that just maybe it would have been enough
. Now the tie to each of those treasures was being savagely severed, like a dead child being ripped from a grieving mother’s arms. Hedron looked back to the ruins of Calyn, a city that had been the envy of the Realm—his boyhood home. It now looked as he felt inside.

Second moon had set. Dawn would soon be upon them. His people still stared at him. Should he surrender? Order a retreat?

Ancients Come! I don’t know what to do!
Scanning through the crowds he saw Lord Hoyt sitting upon his destrier. They shared a look. Farther off, he heard the sounds of horror above, and Hedron knew that battle fared no better.

Lord Hoyt shook his head slightly. Hedron was thinking of surrender and he knew Hoyt saw it. The early morning sky turned a shade of dark gray, matching the trees around them. Hoyt had half to maybe two-thirds of his men left. The wood-dweller militia had fared better due to their agility and advantage given them by the forest, but with that nullified Hedron knew this would become a slaughter. They would take three Borathein for every Arlethian killed, but it would not be enough.

They were done. Hedron knew it.

“Lord Kerr!” Hoyt yelled. His voice carried well as it bounced off the tree-like rock formations. “Hedron! Do not stop! They will not accept surrender!”

Hoyt spurred his warhorse over to the young Lord. Arlethian and Southern forces alike parted for him.

“Hedron, listen to me! They will give us no quarter. Let us rally our people and press forward. We have no choice!”

Two arrows pierced Calder Hoyt’s chest, ending the lull.

“No!” Hedron yelled.

He caught Lord Hoyt as he fell from his horse. Gernald was there seconds later, cursing fiercely.

“No man,” Calder Hoyt said with great effort, “can be worthy…to live once he shrinks because of…fear from that which he knows to be right. I now…pay that price. I pray I may find your father in…the Living Light and beg his forgiveness…”

“Lord Hoyt!” Hedron cried. Kathryn’s father lay in his arms, motionless. His eyes fluttered and chest became still. Hedron slapped his face twice and called his name again. No reply came. Lord Calder Hoyt had left this life.

Hedron felt too stunned to know what to do. He had been the leader of his people for less than a day. He knew they looked to him for moral strength, but he had looked to Lord Hoyt. Seeing their lord fall, the Southern army started to retreat more quickly. It became a frenzied rout. Hedron knew the Borathein sensed that the final blow was near and would soon charge with feverish abandon. Gernald stayed by his dead lord’s side, cutting down every man he could. Lord Marshal Wenthil tried desperately to call for order and organize a defense until a spear impaled him in the neck.

Gernald ripped Hoyt free from Hedron’s arms and hoisted him over his shoulders.

“Run, boy!” he yelled to Hedron. Gernald was gone before Hedron looked up. He stood and saw the sea of Borathein closing in on him. His people, the wood-dwellers who still lived and fought, had not fled. They were scared and anxious—terrified, just as he was—but they stood their ground.

Run?
he asked himself. He had run his entire life. Perhaps three thousand, maybe less, still stood with him. It was amazing to him that so many children were still present, women as well. In a place deep within his mind he knew there were many more lifeless upon the rocky earth.

Run? How can I run?
His mother had not run. His father had stood firmly against the darkness that ended him.

How can I run?
“No man can be worthy to live once he shrinks,” he heard Lord Hoyt’s final words echo through his mind. He would run away no more in his life. Not one more step.

I am Arlethia and she is me
. A terrible fear tried to seize him but found no purchase. He felt stronger suddenly, as if a surge of reserve sprung up inside him. Again the fear came and again it was unsuccessful in clutching him. The strength swelled again. Thurik and Huksinai made their way to his side, having removed their sister far enough from the field of battle.

When he spoke, his voice filled the morning with a supernatural tenor and volume.

“People of Arlethia! Sons and daughters of this land, harken to my words! I have been running my entire life. From my name, from who I am.” He ran his sword through a Borathein and deftly escaped a blow from another. He countered with a punch to the attacker’s face too fast for the man to block and his nose inverted, blood spraying. “But I have committed to you and Arlethia! I will not take one step of retreat!” He saw a young girl, eleven at most, bend over from a wound to the stomach. He who threw the spear immediately had three other younglings upon him, each stabbing repeatedly with short blades until the bearded man ceased to move. “Even our little ones stand firm against these enemies of devilish create! We cannot back down, though others flee in fear. We do not blame them but will find in ourselves the brighter Light! The greater portion of bravery!”

Strong as his words were, they did not have the effect his previous speech had carried. They continued to battle but were giving ground too quickly.

“We must fight through until we find the Living Light or the Dark take us! I will wage that fight! I will wage it with you by my side! Will you?”

He saw the resolve thicken inside his people until it hardened. His own determination could not be shattered, it being
strengthened by standing for something greater than himself. He swore he could feel the air change around him with a sense of familiarity and he thought of his mother. Her final words played through his mind.

Dar vash alaqyn duwel partia
, the ancient Arlethian blessing of protection. He wished he could see her again. His father as well. Perhaps he would after today. His only regret was not being able to say goodbye to Reign and hold Kathryn one last time. He would not waver in the face of death, but spurn it with defiance until the end.

Three thousand men, women, and younglings, along with two wolf cubs, charged the darkness before them in the pale light of what they were certain would be their last morning.

Antious Roan was a general without an army. Where he should turn eluded him. He sat within a quarter-mile of the Sentharian army’s camp where the remnants of the various fronts now gathered. The southern front’s forces had not returned, which Roan hoped was a positive sign, some sliver of silver light in these cursed days. The tall grass he hid beneath also provided some nourishment. He had taken to chewing on the softer portion of the long blades that were under the soil. When he had chewed them to a pulp-like consistency, he forced the bolus down his throat. The cramps felt like someone lancing his stomach from the inside, but they eventually passed.

A figure approached the camp from the north in nothing more than a loincloth. From this distance only a wood-dweller could pick out minute details. He was grotesquely disfigured with strange markings and had the build of a bull. Roan believed him to be the stockiest man he had ever seen. The way he walked exuded confidence. No, it was more than simple confidence, Roan decided. Lethality. He not only saw it in the man’s walk but also felt it as he focused on the vibrational signals in his footsteps. There had been
similar strides projected from the battlefield where his army fell, and he knew them to be unique to whatever this monster he now observed was, and those of his kind. He remembered the hooded soldiers that arrived the night before.

What are you?
Roan wondered and prayed he would never have to find out. He hurried forward, calling on all his innate wood-dweller skills to remain silent as he moved, until he was within a few hundred feet.

A sentry greeted the disfigured man but Roan saw the soldier get thrown back twenty feet suddenly as if hit by a catapult’s load. Roan’s body went tense. Others approached the nearly naked intruder and swiftly met similar fates. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The monster was fast, as fast as he was, and wielded the strength of five men, more. At the sound of cries, the hooded soldiers General Roan had observed earlier came out of their tents but made no effort to intervene.